Produced by David Widger
MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA de SEINGALT 1725-1798
SPANISH PASSIONS, Volume 6b—EXPELLED FROM SPAIN
THE RARE UNABRIDGED LONDON EDITION OF 1894 TRANSLATED BY ARTHUR MACHEN TOWHICH HAS BEEN ADDED THE CHAPTERS DISCOVERED BY ARTHUR SYMONS.
EXPELLED FROM SPAIN
CHAPTER VII
I Make a Mistake and Manucci Becomes My Mortal Foe—His Vengeance—I
Leave Madrid—Saragossa—Valentia—Nina—I Arrive at Barcelona
If these Memoirs, only written to console me in the dreadful wearinesswhich is slowly killing me in Bohemia—and which, perhaps, would kill meanywhere, since, though my body is old, my spirit and my desires are asyoung as ever—if these Memoirs are ever read, I repeat, they will onlybe read when I am gone, and all censure will be lost on me.
Nevertheless, seeing that men are divided into two sections, the one andby far the greater composed of the ignorant and superficial, and theother of the learned and reflective, I beg to state that it is to thelatter I would appeal. Their judgment, I believe, will be in favour of myveracity, and, indeed, why should I not be veracious? A man can have noobject in deceiving himself, and it is for myself that I chiefly write.
Hitherto I have spoken nothing but the truth, without considering whetherthe truth is in my favour or no. My book is not a work of dogmatictheology, but I do not think it will do harm to anyone; while I fancythat those who know how to imitate the bee and to get honey from everyflower will be able to extract some good from the catalogue of my vicesand virtues.
After this digression (it may be too long, but that is my business andnone other's), I must confess that never have I had so unpleasant a truthto set down as that which I am going to relate. I committed a fatal actof indiscretion—an act which after all these years still gives my hearta pang as I think of it.
The day after my conquest I dined with the Venetian ambassador, and I hadthe pleasure of hearing that all the ministers and grandees with whom Ihad associated had the highest possible opinion of me. In three or fourdays the king, the royal family, and the ministers would return to town,and I expected to have daily conferences with the latter respecting thecolony in the Sierra Morena, where I should most probably be going.Manucci, who continued to treat me as a valued friend, proposed toaccompany me on my journey, and would bring with him an adventuress, whocalled herself Porto-Carrero, pretending to be the daughter or niece ofthe late cardinal of that name, and thus obtained a good deal ofconsideration; though in reality she was only the mistress of the Frenchconsul at Madrid, the Abbe Bigliardi.
Such was the promising state of my prospects when my evil genius broughtto Madrid a native of Liege, Baron de Fraiture, chief huntsman of theprincipality, and a profligate, a gamester, and a cheat, like all thosewho proclaim their belief in his honesty nowadays.
I had unfortunately met him at Spa, and told him I was was going toPortugal. He had come after me, hoping to use me as a means of gettinginto good society, and of filling his pocket with the money of the dupeshe aspired to make.
Gamesters have never had any proof of my belonging to their infernalclique, but they have always persisted in believing that I too am a"Greek."
As soon as this baron heard that I was in Madrid he called on me, and bydint of politeness obliged me to receive him. I thought any smallcivilit